An Old Gentleman (who has come out with the object of observing Bank Holiday manners—­which he has done from a respectful distance—­to his friend, as they settle down in an empty first-class compartment).  There, now we shall just get comfortably off before the crush begins.  Now, to me, y’know, this has been a most interesting and gratifying experience—­wonderful spectacle, all that immense crowd enjoying itself in its own way—­boisterously, perhaps, but, on the whole, with marvellous decorum!  Really, very exhilarating to see—­but you don’t agree with me?

His Friend (reluctantly).  Well, I must say it struck me as rather pathetic than—­

The O.G. (testily).  Pathetic, Sir—­nonsense!  I like to see people putting their heart into it, whether it’s play or work.  Give me a crowd—­

    [As if in answer to this prayer, there is a sudden irruption
    of typical Bank Holiday-makers into the compartment.

Man by the Window.  Third-class as good as fust, these days!  There’s ole FRED!  Wayo, FRED, tumble in, ole son—­room for one more standin’!

    ["OLE FRED” plays himself in with a triumphal blast on a tin
    trumpet, after which he playfully hammers the roof with his
    stick, as he leans against the door.

Ole Fred.  Where’s my blanky friend?  I ’it ’im one on the jaw, and I ain’t seen ’im since! (Sings, sentimentally, at the top of a naturally powerful voice.) “Com-rides, Com-rides!  Hever since we was boys!  Sharin’ each other’s sorrers.  Sharin’ each hother’s—­beer!”

    [A “paraprosdokian,” which delights him to the point of
    repetition.

The O.G. Might I ask you to make a little less disturbance there Sir? [Whimpers from over-tired children.

Ole Fred (roaring).  “I’m jolly as a Sandboy, I’m ’appy as a king!  No matter what I see or ’ear, I larf at heverything!  I’m the morril of my moth-ar, (to O.G.) the himage of your Par!  And heverythink I see or ’ear, it makes me larf ‘Ar-har!’”

    [He laughs “Ar-har,” after which he gives a piercing
    blast upon the trumpet, with stick obbligato on the roof.

The O.G. (roused).  I really must beg you not to be such an infernal nuisance!  There are women and children here who—­

Old Fred.  Shet up, ole umbereller whiskers! (Screams of laughter from women and children, which encourage him to sing again.) “An’ the roof is copper-bottomed, but the chimlies are of gold.  In my double-breasted mansion in the Strand!” (To people on platform, as train stops.) Come in, oh, lor, do!  “Oi-tiddly-oi-toi! hoi-toi-oy!”

    [The rest take up the refrain—­“‘Ave a drink an’ wet your
    eye,” &c., and beat time with their boots.